


Pars Patris (Kon has Clonefeels)

by CurlicueCal



Series: Sons of Fathers [1]
Category: DCU, Smallville, Teen Titans
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father/Son, Feels, Found Family, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Kon gets bored okay, Like father like son, M/M, Mash-up universe, Post-Rift, Snark, clonefeels, pre-pre-pre-slash (because Clark doesn't even get a line in this one), slow crime day, whatever bits of canon are useful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlicueCal/pseuds/CurlicueCal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kon-El Luthor Kent gets bored and decides to make the acquaintance of the other half of his heritage.  This proceeds smashingly.<br/>----<br/>In which I take rampant advantage of whatever bits of various canons suit me to explore my Dad!Lex feels.  Sort of compliant with the first couple seasons of Smallville, then it does its own thing, then I horribly cannibalize the DC comics verse to bring Kon out to play.  Also some Young Justice/Titans/Justice League stuff in forms that may or may not be recognizable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Filius est pars patris. (The son is part of the father.) - Latin proverb_  
>  _We are all the sons of fathers. -Arthur Penn_  
>  -  
> First of a series; these also work as stand-alones.  
> I've actually got quite a few already written (I'm shy, yo) so you're guaranteed at least four.

After everything, after getting out of Cadmus labs, and the mess with Superman and the kryptonite, and what happened with Gramps, Clark brought Kon to live with Clark’s parents in Smallville. Kon didn’t question it—that was just the sort of thing Clark did.

Kon liked Smallville. 

Kon liked the Kents and his new, almost-family. He kept his head down, as Clark so clearly wanted him to, he wore the silly glasses and fit himself in comfortably with the average small-town high school student. It wasn’t particularly confining. Smallville folk had plenty of practice not seeing what shouldn’t be seen. 

All in all, the transition was easy. Kon liked people and he didn’t dwell on things. 

Sometimes things tried to sneak up on him in the night, keeping him wakeful and restless, hardly able to contain himself in his own skin. The household had had a few rough months early on, before they’d settled into tacit understanding. He’d leave a note on his pillow, so the Kents wouldn’t worry, and go out for a flight through the dark, returning for breakfast, chores and school as if he’d never been gone. That was the compromise, a concession to the foundling almost-child they’d accepted into their home. 

And if sometimes his night flights took him out of Smallville, if they took him to big cities and dark corners, to clubs packed full of blinding colors and hungry people, well, nobody got hurt and not much out there could hurt Kon. 

The Kents might not feel that was part of the unspoken agreement, or then again, they might. 

Smallville folk were well versed in all the many shades and layers of secrets and lies. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Biologically, Kon had two fathers. Nominally, he was a clone. Practically, he had an odds-and-ends adoptive family, most of which he was not actually related to, and one of which he was very, very related to. Excepting an annoying tendency for people to assume he was Clark version 2.0, Kon considered that he was about as lucky and content as an abomination-of-science could get. Sometimes things came together pretty damn awesome. He wasn't looking to upset the balance. 

In hindsight it was probably unavoidable that it was a whim that finally brought him to meet his father. 

The _other_ one. 

Kon turned a lazy flip in the air, examining Metropolis upside-down on the off chance the view might be more interesting. The ordered turmoil of the busy city below him maintained its distinctly non-criminal countenance, albeit turned on its head. 

Typical luck. He actually got an officially-sanctioned, Saturday escape from Smallville, sans giant blue keeper (he was sixteen—was he _ever_ going to shake the babysitter?) and it was going to be completely boring. Not so much as a purse-snatching to foil. 

In retrospect, Clark had probably just wanted an excuse to keep Kon from following him. He was totally not buying into any of that sweet talk again. _Sure, Clark. I can keep an eye on the big city while you run off to fight aliens or whatever. No problem. Because, you know, I’m sure the Metropolis underworld is just jumping at the opportunity to commit crimes in broad daylight on Superman’s home turf._

_Right_. 

_I’m so totally not rescuing any more cats out of trees_. 

He blew out a dramatic, gusty sigh and angled sideways through the air to loop around the big globe over the Planet. The half empty offices below indicated that even the weekend news would not be particularly exciting. Okay, definitely, _definitely_ , not rescuing any cats today. Bored reporters derived some sort of sadistic glee from embarrassing him, and he could swear they had superpowers for finding precisely those stories that made him look like the world’s lamest superhero. Plus Grandma Martha always clipped all the articles for her scrapbook. 

_Sorry, kitties. Sometimes a guy just has to draw the line._

He _did_ detour across the city skyline to return an escaped balloon to a howling child, offering a quirked grin to the bag and stroller-laden mother who looked like she was about at the end of her tether. “Need any help?” 

The woman dug up a beleaguered smile and indicated the stroller, where a red-faced infant had the look of a baby plotting how best to out-howl his older sibling. “I’ve got the bags. Can you cure teething?” 

“Hm. I’m not that super.” 

“I guess we’ll manage. Toby, tell Superboy thank you for rescuing your balloon.” 

The tear-stained child looked up from chewing the end of the balloon ribbon into his mouth and recited something that might have been the appropriate phrase. Mother and child moved on smiling, despite the rising wails of the infant, so Kon decided to chalk that up as a victory for Team Good. 

Unfortunately, balloon-rescuing did very little to either relieve boredom or defend his machismo. As he looped idly through the skies again, he pondered over how many cell phone cameras he’d seen at the last scene, but this had limited entertainment value. 

A lone rooftop figure, hoisted high above the surrounding skyscrapers, caught his eye. 

Well. That might be interesting. 

And Clark _did_ ask Kon to look after Metropolis while he was gone. White collar crime was probably way more prevalent a threat to the city than your ordinary superhero fare of muggings, bank robberies, and supervillains. Wait, did Lex Luthor count as a supervillain? 

Sacrificing impulse control on the altar of ennui, Kon tilted to thread through the array of Metropolis buildings toward LexCorp Tower. 

He floated into position a yard or two behind Luthor and smirked. His entry line was obvious. 

“Boo!” 

Luthor didn’t even jump, although the door behind him banged open, discharging a dangerous looking and very armed security guard, gun already aimed and sighted. 

Kon held up his hands and tried out his best ‘I’m-too-adorable-to-kill-please-don’t-shoot-me’ smile. The humorless lady behind the gun remained rock steady. “Um. I come in peace?” 

Luthor turned from the view, making miniscule adjustments to the fall of his tailored suit jacket as he looked Kon up and down. He wasn't a particularly tall man—average height, which meant Kon had a good few inches on him—but he radiated an assurance of power that seemed to occupy the space around him—the certain knowledge that whatever the business at hand he could crush it under his heel with barely a flex of money and influence. The bald head—practically a Luthor trademark—creased in irritation. 

“Superboy.” The man somehow compacted a lifetime of disdain into the title. You could _hear_ the quotation marks. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you shot right now for trespassing on private property.” 

“Superman would be mad?” 

Luthor bared his teeth in something that might possibly, in some species of carnivorous reptile, have been called a smile. “I said a reason I _shouldn’t_ have you shot.” 

Kon rotated in the air, attempting to keep both Luthor and the gun-lady under surveillance. The barrel of the gun appeared to be glowing faintly green. “Oh, man, is that kryptonite? I hate kryptonite.” 

“You have thirty seconds.” 

“I’m not actually on your property! I’m above it!” 

“I suspect you will fall downwards.” 

“Can I go back to the ‘Superman will be pissed’ one?” 

“Ten seconds.” 

“Hey, you can’t shoot me! I’m like your son!” 

Luthor actually blinked, before returning a cold, narrow gaze. “Infanticide runs in the family.” 

“Er. Sorry to hear that?” 

The glare hardened, broadcasting _I would like to kill you with my mind._ “I am running out of patience, Superboy. What—do—you—want?” 

“Not to get shot.” 

The glare was now broadcasting _I will invent a device specifically to enable me to kill you with my mind and then kill you with it._

“I mean, nothing! I don’t want anything! I was just really bored!” 

“Bored.” 

“Yes?” 

“You are harassing me, on private property, _in my home,_ because you are bored.” 

Kon decided not to point out that they were technically _above_ the penthouse. He tried another smile. “Got any evil plots for me to foil?” 

Wow, those glares could speak whole _volumes_ of painful death and destruction. On the plus side Luthor seemed to be considering a kryptonite bullet far too easy a death for him, so probably Kon wouldn’t get shot. 

Confirming the point, Luthor threw up a hand, stalking past Kon and the guardswoman. “Forget it. You’re not worth the paperwork. Fly away and harass someone else. I have work to do.” 

Kon frowned. “But it’s Saturday!” 

“Amazingly, the wheels of the world do not actually stop turning for arbitrary divisions of time.” Luthor didn’t even glance back as he swept into the stairwell with his bodyguard. Kon floated after him, which made the blonde guard glower and finger her gun, but Luthor waved her off with a, “Don’t tempt me, Mercy.” 

“No, seriously. You’re like the richest man alive and you have to work on a Saturday?” 

Luthor’s response was clipped and irritated. “First, I am _not_ the richest man alive, and second, if running a multinational corporation did not require hard work everybody would be doing it. And third, you are now both stalking and trespassing.” 

“Dude, whatever. That still sucks.” Kon tucked his thumbs into the back of his belt, tipping his head. “Anyway, if you have so much work to do why were you hanging out on a roof?” 

Luthor stopped at the base of the stairs, shoulders tightening. After a moment, his posture relaxed, smoothing out. He turned around revealing a face gone completely flat and blank. It made something cold clench up at the base of Kon’s spine in a way the kryptonite and death threats hadn’t. “Forgive me. In the future I will remember that there is no time I may expect to enjoy the peace of my rooftop without unwanted alien invaders dropping by. Thank you for your insightful commentary about my life and character. Good day to you.” 

Luthor stepped through the door into the penthouse and pressed a button on the wall as the guard followed him. The door beeped. It swung shut with a very final clank. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Mercy paced around her employer’s chair to lock down the windows. Lex had gone from rooftop brooding into manic fervor and was proceeding to the depths of shit-faced drunk. This progression could be easily tracked by the distinct reduction in his vocabulary, an alcohol-induced deficiency Lex compensated for with profanity. 

“Fuck. Looks just like him. Fucking _clone._ Fucking _Dad. Fuck_.” 

Since his meteor-mutant healing was more than sufficient to manage his best attempts at self-induced alcohol poisoning, Mercy’s only responsibility of the moment was securing the penthouse for the evening and seeing that no one further disturbed him. She did not consider listening to drunken tirades and philosophizing to be among her duties to her employer, so she disregarded his diatribe, focusing on a thorough sweep through the rooms for bugs. 

Relationships, one of three closely associated things almost guaranteed to trigger her employer’s downward spiral, were not something Mercy was equipped to assist him with. Lionel Luthor, Lex’s father, and another surefire trigger, had passed beyond the influence of the living over two years ago, although his influence _on_ the living lingered like the taste of something rotting. The final of the three Mercy felt more competent to handle, but—until Lex actually let her use deadly force—kryptonite could only provide a temporary solution. 

And now, this— _clone_ , with elements of all three. Lionel Luthor's creation from the combined DNA of both his son and Superman, not to mention the reckless employment of a good number of highly illegal and unethical techniques. Uncovered in a covert laboratory barely a year ago, on nearly the anniversary of Lionel's death. 

The old bastard couldn't have arranged it much better if he'd been planning it. 

Mercy tapped her fingers along the gun at her side. 

Lex had gone silent, which was either a good sign or a very bad one, depending, but either way recalled Mercy’s attention. She locked the detector back into its safe, and stood to one side, examining her employer as he stared into the crystal of the decanter and swirled his whiskey. Time ticked by. Lex returned the glass to the side table with a definitive click. 

“Sir?” 

“I want everything we have on Cadmus labs. I want everything we _don’t_ have on Cadmus labs. And get me a phone. And an aspirin.” 

“Yes, sir.” Mercy didn’t smile, even on the inside, but she did let her hand move more than a few inches from her gun for the first time all evening, and her steps felt lighter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

So. Lex Luthor. Spinning in the darkening sky, Kon took a moment to contemplate this encounter with the man who had supplied the human (mutant?) portion of his genetics. 

Luthor wasn’t a subject he’d given a lot of prior consideration. Okay, yes, he was curious. But the novelty of finding out about the type of people you were cloned from wore off about the time you realized everyone else was going to be plenty obsessed with drawing the comparisons _for_ you. And after more than a year he was still adjusting to the idea that the Kents somehow considered him something like family—trying to figure out what his relationship might be to the two men _actually_ related to him was _way_ too complicated to bother with. 

It wasn’t like they were even old enough to be Kon’s father. 

Fathers. 

And there was a phrase perfectly tailored to sum up _exactly_ why Kon shouldn't have conversations like this with himself. That, and the whole conversation-with-himself aspect. 

If Clark was anything concrete it was more like some kind of friendly-competitive-mentoring brother thing, and— 

Kon stopped, then, actually halting in midair as if the thought was a brick wall. Because, actually, _Clark_ wasn’t old enough to be Kon’s father. Luthor was… well, Luthor just _was._ Old enough. Technically. Barely, but still. That was kind of… Well, it wasn’t something that Kon… 

It was one of those stupidly simple, every day concepts, that hit Kon like a bullet and ricocheted around until his skull felt _full_ and _buzzing_. 

And he suddenly knew there was no way he could go back to Smallville tonight. 

Kon turned his flight around, away from Smallville, back towards Metropolis. The first chance he had, he dropped some change in a payphone and dialed the Kents. 

“Hey, Aunt Martha. It's Conner. Is it okay if I stay over at Clark’s tonight? No, it was great. I’m awesome. Yeah, uh-huh. No, I know. If he’s not back tomorrow morning I’ll head straight home. Okay, thanks! I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Kon hung up the phone and breezed low into downtown Metropolis. 

He didn’t hit the clubs here often, what with the potential problem of running into Clark, but he did have some stuff stashed out of the way. Grab a change of clothes, maybe some money if he’d left any last time, and did he have a fake ID here? 

Kon grinned suddenly, huge and carefree and alive. Oh, yeah. That would be just…perfect. It was a good night to be a stranger. It was an appropriate night to be a Luthor. 

He tossed his head back and laughed the whole way there, leaving troubled thoughts foundering behind him in the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

Kon was in just a tiny bit of trouble. That was how he was choosing to look at it anyway, although the way the stocky cop was looking at _him_ while talking into a small black mobile was making Kon wonder how long he could keep up the self-delusion.

With the exception of its conclusion the evening had gone rather well. On the one hand, Kon hadn't gotten past a few drinks—which couldn't actually affect him—and a few dances before the interruption. On the other hand, the little incident with the slightly psychotic and probably very high shooter had been at least as entertaining as what he'd had planned for the evening, aside from the slight worry that someone a little less bulletproof than himself might get caught in the crossfire. 

His TTK was way more discreet in these kinds of situations than Clark's generally more dramatic abilities (at least so long as he didn't levitate or pick up vending machines one handed and throw them across the room) and people were always much too alarmed to be paying particular attention to where all the bullets wound up. A borrowed jacket covered the tear in his shirt where the bullet had clipped his shoulder—not that the shirt looked all that different from what a lot of people in the club were wearing anyway—and Kon was just another innocent bystander. And if a few objects had conveniently fallen from their perches or tipped over onto the shooter's head in the chaos, well that certainly didn't have anything to do with Kon, who was merely diving for cover or shrinking back against a wall. 

It would actually have been a perfect evening, except for the part where he hadn't made it out the back of the club before the cops charged through the front. And then he'd gone and made everything worse by giving the wrong fake name, which only drew attention to the fact that that the name on the false ID in his wallet said Alexander J. Luthor. 

Oops. 

The bouncers at the entrance had barely feigned a glance at his ID on his way in and Kon hadn't given his joke a thought past the initial caprice but the police didn't seem to find it particularly amusing. 

Which led to Kon waiting around one side of the club with a mixed group of possession-of-controlled-substances, carrying-concealed, solicitation, and consumption-of-alcohol-by-a-minor chargees. At least he was in Metropolis. It would've been a lot harder to explain what Conner Kent was doing at a nightclub in a different state. Not that that helped _him_. Kon was going to be grounded for life. At the minimum. 

The cop in charge of him got off the phone, and waved at two men in dark suits that had appeared in the doorway. He gave Kon an unfriendly smile. "Congratulations, kid. You caught the big man's attention. You're not taking that trip to the station after all." 

Oh, _that_ didn't sound good. Dirty cops in Metropolis? Clark was going to be pissed. Kon wondered optimistically if this would in any way redirect the tide of retribution coming his way. Probably not. _Sigh_. 

Of course, there was always the comforting possibility that he wouldn't make it out of whatever this next bit was alive. Who knew? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Kon followed the two dangerous-looking men out of the club, past the police security line, and down to the curb, where a long dark limo waited. Here Kon paused a moment to contemplate this latest, unexpected development in a less-than-normal life and wonder how much it was going to hurt. The men gestured meaningfully towards the open door, and he took a last gulp of the open night air before sliding in. 

The first thing he saw was the bodyguard from the roof—Mercy?—eyeing him with a sullen malevolence that seemed to be related to the fact that her gun was tucked politely in a side holster rather than in her hand, aimed at him. A woman radiating that intense an ability and willingness to maim would normally have been center focus, but Kon’s gaze was sucked past her to the poised, inscrutable figure watching Kon with perfect calmness and emptiness of expression. 

Lex Luthor. 

“So glad you could join us. Please. Take a seat.” 

The limo started moving as Kon slid wordlessly onto the seat across from him, the alarm bells clamoring in his head for once loud enough to silence any smart remarks. Because he didn’t know what was going on here. He didn’t know what Luthor wanted. He didn’t know how much Luthor knew. 

Kon fiddled with his glasses, caught himself, and made himself place his hands at his sides. The silence stretched on, calculated to induce nervous babbling and confessions. Interrogation 101, and Kon could try to turn the game around on Luthor—but that wasn’t really his style. _So... go with it._ He let a smile quirk his lips. “So, uh… you always bail out random kids using your name on fake IDs?” 

Luthor observed him in continued silence for a few moments more, before spreading his lips in a smile that didn't quite match the contemplative grey eyes. “Ah. The feigned ignorance routine. How excruciatingly nostalgic.” 

Kon shrugged and tipped his head to one side, suppressing uneasiness and amusement. “I’m… happy for you? Look, thanks a bunch for getting me out of there, and I’m really really sorry about the name thing, but can I go home now?” 

Luthor’s lazy gaze narrowed and sharpened. “Yes. The ‘name thing.’ Let’s talk about that for a moment.” 

Kon shifted uncomfortably under that sharp focus. “Said I was sorry.” 

“Yes, you did. And with such charming manners. Very well-bred of you. Still, I find myself wondering what would motivate such… atypical behavior. Most civic-minded people seem to find the Luthor name rather… weighty.” 

Enough subtext and pointed undertones in that speech to fill a small novel. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just an impulse thing. I thought it would be funny.” 

“Yes, you do seem to have a regrettable habit of acting impulsively.” 

Kon—froze. Luthor _couldn’t_ recognize him, _couldn’t_ know him, that was a Kryptonian _thing._ That was how it _worked_. His mind kicked from its standstill into a humming swarm of questions, even as he shrugged and said easily, “It keeps life interesting.” 

“Clearly. Being held at gunpoint multiple times in one day must do wonders to drive off boredom.” 

And there it was again, that teasing insinuation of _I know more than you think_ slipped easily into innocuous conversation. Or maybe this was more like veiled hostilities. Hard to say. “Well, actually, it wasn’t so much of a ‘holding at gunpoint’ kind of business, as a ‘pointing gun in general direction’ kind of business.” 

“I see. And the ‘shooting to kill’ business? Where would you say that comes in?” 

“Very non-boring.” 

Luthor actually made a small sound of amusement. “No protestations of misfires or bad aim? Aren’t you going to rush to assure me that no bullets did indeed strike your tender flesh?” 

_Um, no, because I’m not actually an idiot_. Kon let the spike of wary alarm show through on his face, adding in a hefty dose of his general bewilderment. “That’s… kind of obvious?” He looked around the limo uncomfortably. "Look, Mr. Luthor, I don't know what it is you want from me, but it's late and I'd really like to go home now." 

Luthor sat back and laced his fingers thoughtfully in front of him. “Well. A marginally effective liar. Perhaps it’s the improved genetics.” 

And _that_ allusion was pointed enough to skewer. Kon’s eyes narrowed. "The cryptic comments are getting a little old over here. Can we skip the Q&A and get to the point? Or don't you have one?" 

Luthor considered him with shuttered eyes. Finally, the corners of his mouth tipped up slightly. “Of course. Whatever you prefer, Conner. Or should I say ‘Superboy?’ Mr. Kent?” 

Kon’s first emotion, weirdly enough, was intense irritation. That smug tone was completely unnecessary. This was followed by a moment of blinding, Clark’s-going-to-kill-me panic, accompanied by a brief moment where Kon considered pounding his way out the top of the limo and fleeing. To Antarctica. Or maybe the moon. 

He shoved that down, all of the chaos and disorder and vaguely hysterical absurdity, packing it away because he couldn't afford it right now, couldn't afford to make mistakes. Luthor had used the Kent name, and that was something Kon would never dare be reckless with. 

For a long time he only stared at Luthor, as if he could peel back the layers of the man to see inside him. He looked arrogant, distantly amused, and also something else. Something watchful and wary and...calculating. He looked like a man that could destroy everyone and everything Kon cared about. A man who could effortlessly shatter that small piece of the world Kon had only just begun to fit himself into. 

He looked like a man who had stood against the world, against Superman, and carved out an empire for himself. Adaptable. Intelligent. Pragmatic. Ruthless. Inherently dangerous. 

Kon relaxed, ever so slightly. Pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged on the limo bench, he peered over the tops of his glasses and quirked a smile. "It's Kon, actually." 

Luthor blinked once. "Kon-El." 

"That's it." Kon's smile turned up a notch. "Welcome to the club. It's a very exclusive membership." 

"The...club." Luthor didn't betray any confusion in his voice, sounding merely thoughtful, but he looked nonplussed enough that Kon couldn't suppress an exultant grin. 

"Of people that actually know my name to call me by. There can't be more than ten." He did a little finger wave at Mercy. "I should make pins." 

Luthor's eyes narrowed. "Very amusing. I must confess I was expecting much more in the way of dramatics. It's been my experience that superheroes are very... defensive of their secret identities." 

"You didn't just figure it out. You knew already." Kon meant it to be a statement, but couldn't quite help the questioning lilt that crept into the end. 

Luthor actually smiled. It made him look like a cat admiring the audacity of a particularly foolish mouse. "And you think that has some sort of positive bearing on your situation?" 

Kon shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "Well, apparently you haven't done anything so far. So that would kinda seem to indicate a 'yes.'" 

Luthor raised an eyebrow in return. "'Not doing anything' somehow encompasses the current situation?" 

Kon waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, and if you _were_ going to bring that kind of advantage seriously into play I doubt you'd waste time with minor players. You'd go straight for the throat." 

"Perhaps you're the way I plan do that." 

"Still think you'd want to see his face. No, wait. He already knows, doesn't he? He knows you know? How many other people know? How long has this been going on? Argh! Nobody ever tells me anything!" 

Now Luthor was eyeing him with what was probably barely sustained forbearance but Kon was going to optimistically interpret as suppressed amusement. The reply, however, was cold and sharp-edged, brittle as new ice. "Superman and I have understood where we each stand almost from the beginning." 

Again with the cryptic. Kon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You do know his name, right? I mean you'd have to be pretty incompetent to somehow not pick up that detail but Kryptonian stuff can get pretty weird and this whole dancing around the issue thing is giving me a headache." 

"Clark Kent." Luthor's voice was clipped. 

"Okay, cool. Huh, this is really weird." 

"And again I point out your remarkably casual reaction to this situation." 

Another shrug. "You haven't done anything to me so far other than bail me out of a slightly awkward situation with the cops." 

"I held you at gunpoint this afternoon." 

"Yeah, but I was being a pest. Anyway, you didn't shoot me." 

"I didn't shoot _you._ At that particular time. I have done many, many worse things in the past. I will do worse things in the future. Some people might consider it your duty to do something about that." 

Kon rolled his eyes. "What am I, a time traveler?" 

Luthor quirked a smile, and for a minute it even seemed to reach his eyes, turning them blue and vivid with humor. "Very sensible." The momentary amusement dissolved, and his voice turned unreadable and probing again. "Or, on the other hand, very foolish. I could be trying to lure you from the path of angels. Or then again, maybe I'm plotting to blackmail Superboy." 

"I'll just say no if it's anything stupid." 

"Sometimes it's not possible to say no." 

Kon smiled, letting the implications slide off him. "Lucky I'm so good at impossible then." 

Luthor's voice wasn't cold anymore. It was warm, and low and reasonable and somehow the most terrifying he had managed to be all day. "Mr. Kent. It is extremely unwise to presume that because I have not acted on something before I will never act upon it when it is to my advantage. I wonder if you would be so careless with the lives of people...slightly more vulnerable than yourself." 

The words washed over him, and turned into an icy cold lump in his gut. Kon swallowed down an almost instinctive desire to hit the man in the face. But it was a test, wasn't it? Well, too bad for Luthor that Kon had had a lifetime's worth of tests and had long since learned never to play by the rules. "Oh, are we doing threats now? Let me try." Kon straightened to meet flat grey eyes with his own unflinching stare. He spoke deliberately, carefully, laying each word down like a stone. "If you _touch_ the Kents I will kill you." 

Kon paused, testing out the burden of the words to see if he could live with them. He didn't truly believe he'd have to carry through on it. He'd never killed anyone, and he didn't particularly want to. Clark would have to put him down like a mad dog afterward. 

But. 

Kon smiled. Not a nervous gesture or something meant to take the bite from his words, but his native expression, bright and friendly and probably more than a little unsettling in the current context. It felt like a threat he could live with. "How was that? Do you feel threatened?" 

Luthor considered him, again looking a little bit amused, a little bit ominous. "I think I would be more alarmed if the threat were from a different source." 

"You think I'm not dangerous?" 

"I _know_ you're dangerous. But death threats? No. Try something else." 

"You don't know me." 

"No?" 

Kon smiled and there were sharp, feral edges to his own expression now. "No. Don't worry. Lots of people make that mistake. But the thing is, I'm _not actually Clark_." 

Luthor's voice was still soft, though more serious, eyes icy grey edging into cut glass blue. "So I am finding. Who are you, Kon-El?" That was way too philosophical a question for Kon to be inclined to answer, so he looked at Luthor until the man continued. "Someone who could kill a man? That's a dangerous trait in a vigilante." 

"Someone it's a bad idea to corner." Kon let the irritation creep into his voice. "Did I pass your test?" 

"And what test would that be?" 

Kon made mocking big eyes, voice lilting in mimicry. " 'Oh, boy. The feigned ignorance routine. How fun.' " 

Luthor barked out a laugh. He grinned at Kon, a flash of even white teeth. It still made him look like nothing more approachable than a very happy shark, but at least it reached his eyes. "All right. Fairly played. Let's just say the results are pending, but I don't believe they will be at all what I expected." 

Kon raised a bemused eyebrow. "I...hope that's a good thing?" 

"Oh, it always is." Luthor smiled again, eyes still electric with laughter. "One more question?" 

"Do I get to ask one next?" 

"Fair enough. I reserve the right not to answer." 

"What you said." 

"Call it a deal." Luthor smiled the smile of a businessman for whom deals always worked out to his advantage. "Then, to broach a sensitive subject... your choice of venues for tonight...?" 

Oh, yes. The gay bar thing. It was probably more surprising that hadn't come up in conversation earlier. Kon gave Luthor an easy smile and lifted a shoulder. "I always figured the whole species issue was complicated enough without worrying about gender." 

"Very reasonable. I have a similar position myself." 

Kon blinked. "Really?" 

Another razorblade smile. "Is that your question?" 

"Huh?—oh—no. I just always figured it was a Kryptonian thing if I got it anywhere." Kon thought about it. "I don't think I've ever heard anything about you and guys." 

Luthor's eyes narrowed and blanked as Kon spoke, and Kon had the impression of quite a lot of thought going on behind steel walls. Something he'd said...? But the man answered readily enough. "Politics before preference. 'The sacrifice of truth for ambition,' as it were." He spread his hands. "Kansas is not a particularly open-minded state. But I've never found my romantic life lacking." 

"I guess all your wives trying to kill you _would_ keep things pretty busy." 

"There is an element of the masochistic in there, yes. I have horrible taste in lovers." 

"But not boring." 

Luthor smiled, another one that sent dangerous amusement like bright blue lightning through grey eyes. "No, never that." 

Kon 's attention shifted as the movement of the limo idled and settled into something that felt like a more final stop than any of the previous ones. He looked around, peering through tinted windows to make out the cement and metal lines of a large, partially lit garage. Ooo-kay, that was just a tiny bit ominous, in a clichéd, bad movie kind of way. 

Luthor gave him an unreadable smile. "It appears we have arrived." 

There was some shuffling, and one of the dark suited security guards from earlier appeared from the front of the limo to hold the door open. Mercy, shooting Kon a glare that promised painful, Kryptonite-laced death should he try anything in her infinitesimal absence, preceded Luthor from the limo. Kon spent a moment considering his options. 

He didn't have any. This simplified things considerably, so Kon hesitated only a few seconds before following them out of the limo and into Luthor's territory.


	3. Chapter 3

The limo disappeared almost immediately, taking with it the extra security guards.

Evidently it didn't get to share quarters with the exalted occupants of this particular garage, and when Kon looked around he could see why. 

Every car in the garage was a thoroughbred, peerless, priceless, and perfect. They lounged in pools of light and darkness, gleaming shapes or sleek shadowed outlines. Kon felt a surge of pure, adolescent awe. He suddenly understood why people were always trying to kill Luthor for his fortune. Money was money and power was power, but _these_ were some _glorious_ cars. 

He tuned back in to the sound of his own voice. "...Ferrari and an SLR McLaren and oh my god it's a Maserati MC12." Kon only just resisted the urge to fling himself across the garage and plaster himself to the hood. He distracted himself by looking around some more. "And—and—I don't even know what that one is." 

"A Pagani Zonda C12. They're not as well known—Pagani only makes ten or so a year." Luthor sounded both amused and pleased. "You can touch if you like. They won't bite. ...of course, if you scratch the paint I'll have to kill you and feed you to the piranhas." 

"I would _help_ ," Kon said fervently, edging forward to lay a reverent hand on sleek curves. He really, really wanted to pick the car up to look at it properly, but he suspected that would be a bit indiscreet, even for him. The security guards and driver might be gone, and Luthor and Mercy might know his identity, but he was out of costume on LexCorp home ground, and cameras were everywhere these days. He settled for carefully extending his aura, using his TTK to feel the fluid shape and heft of the car in its entirety, like something he could cup in his hands. 

"Why do I get the feeling I could get you to agree to almost anything in exchange for the contents of this garage?" Luthor mused. 

"Oh, you could. I just wouldn't follow through on it once the car-hypnosis wears off." Kon grinned, standing up and prying himself away from the car. "Feel free to offer anyway." 

"I'll keep that in mind." 

They entered an elevator and Luthor keyed in a code to take them to the penthouse. Kon felt very odd standing in the enclosed space with Superman's arch-nemesis who also happened to be, in genetic terms, Kon's father. The same man who owned the world's largest supply of kryptonite and had on multiple occasions demonstrated his intense hatred for the so-called 'alien invader' who was Kon's other, in genetic terms, father. Kon didn't have a particular arch-nemesis himself, but Luthor certainly had the qualities necessary to be a strong contender. 

What exactly was Kon doing here? 

The elevator opened on the top floor, and Kon stepped out automatically, too distracted to take in more than a general impression of utilitarian opulence. He glanced back at Luthor to find himself being observed with narrow eyes. 

"Are you injured?" 

"Huh?" Kon blinked. 

"You're holding your left arm oddly." 

"Oh. I'm fine." More narrowed eyes. Kon felt obliged to elaborate. "It's just a bruise from the bullet." 

Luthor held out a hand, snapping his fingers imperiously when Kon didn't immediately turn over the jacket. With a sort of bewildered amusement, Kon surrendered the garment, and watched Luthor pass it dismissively to Mercy, furrowing his brow as he scrutinized the long tear in the shoulder of Kon's shirt, and the mottled skin visible beneath it. 

The bruising was fairly impressive, spreading far enough down his shoulder to peek out from beneath the edge of Kon's sleeve in an array of ugly purples, browns, and greens. Still, Kon thought the forward progression had halted, so hopefully it was already on its way to healing. 

Luthor's face had gone bland and impassive again, and Kon wondered if he should be worried. "That's more severe than I would expect given your alleged invulnerability." 

And if Kon hadn't been messing around, stretching his TTK to show off, the bullet wouldn't have even done this much. Whatever. "It's not really that bad. Anyway it'll be gone in a couple hours. I heal fast." 

"Rapid healing is not an equal substitute for lack of injury—as I have cause to understand firsthand." 

Kon flashed his teeth. "Pain's how you know you're alive." 

"Hm." Luthor's stare remained non-committal. "Tactile telekinesis isn't much use if you can be easily disabled." 

Kon glared. "I'm _not_ disabled!" 

"And if it had been something more destructive than bullets?" 

"Then I wouldn't have let them hit me." 

"Oh?" 

" _Yes,_ 'oh'! Anyway, what do you expect people to be shooting at me, missiles?" 

"I'm sure they would if they thought that would be effective." 

"Well, it wouldn't be." 

"Like the bullet wasn't effective?" 

"No! It wasn't! I wouldn't have let it hit me otherwise!" 

"Which raises the question of why let it hit you at all?" 

"Because it didn't matter!" 

In the echoing silence that followed, Kon suddenly became aware of exactly how loud he was yelling. Luthor, who had maintained cool, reasonable tones throughout the entire disagreement—damn him—was watching Kon with unreadable eyes. 

"Mercy, go and bring Kon an ice pack, please." 

"Yes, sir." Mercy lingered long enough to give both Kon _and_ Luthor looks that detailed exactly what she thought of this arrangement before heading out of the room. Even her swishing blonde ponytail looked dangerous and annoyed, which should have been impossible. 

In her absence, Kon folded his arms and scowled at Luthor. Superman managed to pull this pose off pretty well, but Kon suspected he just looked like a sulky teenager. It was so unfair. With a gusty sigh he gave it up and flopped down onto a sofa. 

"Have a seat," Luthor said. "Something to drink?" 

Kon ignored him. "So am I kidnapped or do I get to go home at some point?" 

A weighty pause. "Is that your question?" 

Back to that again. Kon rolled his eyes. "That depends. If we're going to play mind games all evening, I'm taking a rain check." 

Luthor observed him with the ominous stillness of a snake considering a mouse. "All right. Let's talk about why you're here." There was a desk in a corner of the room, and Luthor walked over to it, collecting a folder. He moved to a tall chair across from Kon's sofa and took his own seat, dropping the folder on the coffee table between them like a ticking bomb. "First: What are my cards? 

"I know who you are, what you are, where you come from, and who you care about." Kon made an irritated movement, but Luthor waved him off before he could voice a complaint. "But, as we've discussed, this card is not one I am playing—for the moment." He made a gesture, as if laying a card aside. 

"Next: I know your whereabouts for this evening. I know you snuck into a club using a false ID bearing my name." He held fingers up, as if adding cards to his hand. "I know you consumed alcoholic beverages at this club, and danced with several attractive young men and also on a table. There's some very interesting video footage from the security cameras, by the way." Kon made a horrified face. Luthor smiled blandly. "And, following that, I know you are bisexual." 

"That's not actually a secret." Kon was—somehow—vaguely amused again. Well, that along with the growing, overwhelming sense of his own impending doom, but it _was_ kind of funny. "I mean, I've never gone around shouting about it but I don't care if anybody knows." 

Luthor nodded dismissively, evidently content to surrender the 'card' to Kon. When you held half the deck and didn't mind cheating, individual cards weren't so important. "I know that you became involved in a violent altercation. Also some interesting video footage." 

Kon met that insinuation with a level look. "Not as interesting as all that." 

"Sure?" 

He flashed a cocky smile. "Abso-tively." 

Luthor seemed to measure him for a moment, and then conceded another nod. "Perhaps not interesting enough to be...incriminating, but significant to the appropriate audience. Finally, of course, I know that you were arrested—or at least apprehended." Luthor leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "However, I am confident we can...conclude this matter without the further involvement of the police." 

A pause; the slight gathering of muscles beneath the skin. Preparation for the killing strike. "The Kents, on the other hand...I can't imagine your guardians are aware of _any_ of your recent activities, unless they are singularly incompetent. I'm not sure I can in good conscience keep them uniformed." 

"You're threatening to _tell_ on me?" Kon's voice hit a rather embarrassing register. 

Luthor curved his lips in an expression that was too unsettling to be called a smile. A cat with a bird, all playful malice. He seemed content to let forbidding silence loom between them while Kon—too stunned to speak—occupied himself counting all the many ways this was likely to become unpleasant. During this interlude Mercy reentered the room, scanning the situation quickly before passing Kon an ice pack as if she were handing off a dead rat. 

With the disorienting awareness that something here was out of context with the current conversation, Kon held the pack gingerly to his shoulder. The stretching silence put him in mind of the start of this little encounter—and man, had this been a weird night, or what? Kon hadn't gotten any better at the waiting game in the past hour—he took a breath and plunged in. "You might as well just tell me what you want," he said, aiming for boldness. Since Kon wasn't convinced he actually _wanted_ to hear Luthor's demands he might have missed the mark. 

He narrowed his eyes, but braced himself for the inevitable need to take the blow. That was the trouble with secrets. You couldn't be a good guy if you let people use them against you. 

He was going to be in _so_ much trouble. 

"Tch, Kon. This isn't blackmail. I'm concerned about your welfare." Luthor's voice was blithely insincere. Kon gave him a skeptical look over his glasses. Luthor shook his head. "Let me put it this way. What if I did say 'Superboy, use your powers to smite mine enemies or I will be forced to reveal your many misdeeds to your guardians'?" 

"Then I would tell you to shove it, Mr. Luthor." 

"Call me Lex." A speaking smile. "Hardly anyone does." 

"Do I get a pin?" Kon muttered, indistinctly. 

Luthor continued airily over the top of him. "Of course, I won't ask that. Because that would be very wrong of me." 

"Because I would say no." 

Luthor widened his eyes. "Naturally." 

"Uh huh." 

Collecting the folder from the table between them, Luthor leaned back, still the picture of studied innocence. With a casual motion he flipped the folder in Kon's direction. 

Kon caught the folder in his free hand and eyed it like a sealed bioweapon. More blackmail material? Directions to a priceless artifact? Details on an illegal laboratory? Luthor's grocery list? 

He looked inside. 

It was...his school records. Only more so. Academic transcripts, details on every scrap of homework he'd ever turned in—or failed to, handwritten comments from his teachers—and did Mr. Jacobson really think he was 'talented but unfocused'? 

The exhaustiveness was impressive and disturbing. He'd only been doing the school thing a year and the folder was half an inch thick and appeared to be citing more extensive computer records. _If this is my school file I don't think I want to see the blackmail file._

Which still left the question... Kon looked up at Luthor. The innocent expression had vanished, and he looked cutthroat and professional. The consummate businessman. 

"Your grades are embarrassing. Fix them." 

"I'm—you—" Kon sputtered. "This is about my _grades_?" 

"I feel comfortable with that synopsis of the situation," Luthor agreed complacently. "We can always expand from there later on." 

"You're blackmailing me to bring up my grades," Kon said, trying the words on for size. Nope, still sounded crazy. 

"'A's, specifically. Across the board." 

Kon stared at him. He glanced at Mercy, but her stony face didn't betray an opinion of her employer's behavior. "I don't think I'm really an 'A' student." 

Luthor gave him another one of those shark's smiles. "I'm sure you'll rally valiantly to the cause." 

"No, really. What makes you think I can even do any better?" 

Luthor ticked off a list without effort. "Intelligence is highly heritable and you have excellent genetic material on both sides. Most of your teachers consider you promising if under-engaged, and you test well when it doesn't require extensive effort. Also, I can't imagine it would damage your cause any if you remained awake during school hours." 

"When else am I supposed to sleep?" Kon grumbled, but he kept his voice down. "Anyway, Clark shouldn't count. He has _super-memory_. Totally unfair." 

"I, however, do not," Luthor continued, unmoved, "and yet somehow I managed, even when I was getting drunk and high and into every type of trouble I could manage to spite my father." 

He couldn't really think of a response to that, so Kon dropped the folder and leaned back on the sofa to stare at the ceiling. "You know," he said, to the room in general, "I don't exactly have a frame of reference, but I'm pretty sure this is not normal parenting behavior." 

"I've always been a great believer in revolutionary tactics." 

"No kidding." Sarcastic? Who, him? 

Kon returned his attention to the bald billionaire sitting across from him. Could this night get any more surreal? Probably this was some sort of karmic retribution for all his whining about being bored. "Okay. So. I work on my grades..." 

"—and I don't inform your grandparents you've been sneaking out of the house to pick fights and solicit one night stands." Knife-bright smile that didn't soften the warning. Threat. Advice? 

"Oh, yeah," Kon said dismally. "That." 

"That," Luthor agreed. "I expect a B average in all your classes within the next nine weeks _and_ all assignments turned in on time, or above 90% on all exams until the break. Your choice." 

Kon blinked. 

"Following the break I will expect you to achieve and maintain an A average in all classes for the duration." 

"You want that averaged overall or for each class?" 

Luthor ignored the dry tone. "I'm certain we can come to an understanding. I'm willing to allow some leeway in return for satisfactory performance." 

"Has anyone ever mentioned to you that you're crazy?" 

Another smile-like show of teeth. "With medical documentation, even." 

"Ah...hah. Just checking." 

Luthor leaned back and watched him through half-lidded eyes, expression insufferably smug. "I take it we have an understanding?" 

"If by 'understanding' you mean 'really freaking confused'....Yes. Sure. Whatever. Grades up, tattling down. Call it a deal." 

"Such a way with words." 

Kon stuck out his tongue. "You don't like it, make your own genetically engineered alien clone." 

Luthor gave him the blank face. Still scary. "No," he said, soft and musing. "I don't think I will." And smiled. 

Terrifying. 

Kon shook his head, baffled but...entertained. 

"You're not really anything like Gramps," he said accidentally out loud. 

Luthor made a very strange noise. "Jonathan Kent?" he asked in a voice of reluctant horror. 

That made Kon choke on a snort of laughter because honestly—no. Just— _no._ Luthor apparently reached similar conclusions before Kon could recover himself. Kon could practically see the thoughts as they aligned, facts clicking into place. Blue-grey eyes considered him with disconcerting intent. "I wasn't aware that you'd had the opportunity to interact personally with Lionel." 

Kon shrugged, spoke offhandedly. "He had a hook up to connect into Virtua." The program that had allowed Kon's mental development to match the pace of his accelerated aging. Kon didn't quite look at Luthor, letting his gaze roam around the contents of the room. But he could feel the pressure of those eyes, like silver scalpels, slicing him open and peeling back the layers one by one. These were layers Kon had long since decided to leave well enough alone. Poking about wasn't worth the stress. 

Having someone else—anyone else—dissecting his past made him...restless. 

"He made a point to check in on me pretty regularly until he got too sick to visit," Kon added, filling the space in the room. "And I wasn't in the tube _all_ the time." He fidgeted the melting ice pack from hand to hand; set it aside on the couch. This day—and night—seemed determined to rob him of his peace of mind. The adrenaline rush from this evening's skirmish was gone, and the noisy, buzzing, unanswerable, intolerable thoughts were back. 

Full of frustration, Kon got to his feet and walked around the room. Luthor tracked his progress for a time, before giving voice to another question. 

"'Gramps'?" 

The oh-so-casual, flat, flat tone forced a grin from Kon, and he flashed a look back before dropping down into an armchair. "He _hated_ that." 

Luthor chuckled. "He would." 

Kon blinked and looked at Luthor. He felt unaccountably unbalanced, and then unaccountably happy. He laughed, too. 

"You should come back," Luthor said. Kon paused, startled again. Luthor himself had the look of a man who had not expected the words that had issued from his own mouth. He went on quickly, an uncomfortable elaboration that, from Luthor, was practically nervous babble. Kon was fascinated. "To the penthouse, that is. Or the roof, if you would prefer." His face was closing up as Kon watched, expression turning distant and cordial, shoulders pulling into professional lines, eyes returning to impassable steel shields. "I expect we will continue to have... business to discuss." 

Kon tipped his head. Not a safe man to be around, not even a comfortable man...but not boring, either. 

Kon never had been particularly good at careful. 

"Yeah, okay." He grinned. 

"Very good, then." Luthor said, apparently channeling the spirit of an English butler. He seemed to recognize this and went on quickly in cold, clipped tones. "You'll find the roof door unlocked when I'm not busy. I'll set the security system to recognize you." He swept the folder off the table and stood, signaling a clear, if abrupt, ending to the conversation. "I believe you're expected elsewhere. If you want to precede the—Superman to his apartment you have about forty minutes. Do you need a ride somewhere?" 

Kon didn't ask how the heck the man knew any of this. He doubted it would be conducive to his peace of mind. "Nah, I'm good." He got to his feet as well, gathering up his jacket from the side table where Mercy had abandoned it. "I'll just go out by the roof if that's okay." 

"You're not in costume." 

Kon slipped the glasses from his face into his pocket. "Nope. It's not an issue; don't worry about it. I'll pick it up on the way." He turned his grin on Mercy, who was holding the door to the rooftop stairwell in a very meaningful, non-subtle manner. "Bye, Mercy. Thanks for the ice pack, by the way. Oh, and for not shooting me. That was awesome." 

It was difficult to judge, but he liked to imagine she gave him an especially friendly glare in reply. She was warming up to him, he could tell. 

Doing his part, he headed on out, stopping on the steps to look back. Mercy tactfully refrained from slamming the door on his toes. Definitely making progress. 

Kon considered saying a few things, settled for the simplest. 

"Bye, Lex. See you later." 

Kon flew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this one!  
> I hope you'll join me in the next story when I pitch Clark into this mess headfirst to watch him flail.


End file.
